


Memories

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dreams, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memories, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-10
Updated: 2010-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team's upcoming job requires the use of an experimental compound – a compound that is dangerous and may not be worth the risk. When it backlashes on Eames during their trial run, the team must aid Arthur as he tries to reach Eames before his subconscious tears them both apart. Arthur/Eames</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out [here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**
> 
> Pairing: Arthur/Eames (not established)
> 
> Note: This story is a little different from my others as the relationship between Arthur and Eames is not the sole focus. It's there, obviously, but I also wanted to delve into some of the ethical and moral dilemmas that seem to come with this type of profession. I also decided to switch it up a bit since it's always been Eames helping Arthur through something. I hope you'll forgive me for taking some creative liberty since we don't actually know Eames's past. But I hope you still enjoy it even though it's a little different from my previous Inception fics. Once again, input and opinions are very welcome and helpful.
> 
> \----------  
> Fanart done by the fantastic Peepsicle: [link](http://peepsicle.deviantart.com/#/d3bfz2p)

  
****

**Part I**

 

“Darling,” Eames cut in, exasperated, “Slow down and explain this to us again.”

 

Arthur let out a tiny sigh of frustration, shooting the other man a quieting glare, “What’s the matter, Eames? Can’t keep up?”

 

“No, no, pet,” Eames was leaning forward in his chair, focused and concentrated on the current discussion, “I just think you’re explaining this quickly so we won’t know what we’re agreeing to.”

 

“For once I think I’m going to have to agree with him,” Ariadne looked a little guilty and also shocked that she and the forger shared a thought. “From what I caught this is sounding really dangerous.”

 

“It is,” Cobb joined the discussion from where he had been leaning against a rusty old table, listening. “That’s why Arthur and I are briefing you on what this job will require before we agree to anything. Arthur?” the extractor nodded to his point man to continue.

 

Arthur nodded and flipped back through his notes, ready to begin again when Eames’s voice spoke over him yet again, “Slower this time, darling, if you please.” The man somehow made the comment sound dirty, adding a wink in just to annoy the point man.

 

Arthur’s eyes flashed in annoyance before he looked back down at his notes calmly, “The mark is an ex-Colonel James Marshall who stole a large amount of information on a new military program being developed, as well as other military secrets before dropping off the grid entirely.”

 

“Doesn’t the army keep a pretty tight watch on people that high up?” Ariadne asked, eyebrows furrowed in thought as she took in the details, “It’s not easy to just _disappear_ from the army and the government.”

 

“The man was highly trained and knew what he was doing. They did manage to track him down, however, last month. They’ve been keeping subtle tabs on him but have not acted yet in fear of losing him again.” Arthur skimmed his notes but was interrupted yet again.

 

“Wait, so why do they need us, exactly?” Ariadne looked around the warehouse at their haphazardly drawn-together team.

 

“Marshall has been trained to withstand extreme torture. Our employer is of the belief that the information can only be extracted through a dream.” Arthur tapped his pen against his pad of paper, ready to move on to the real problem the rest of the team seemed to be missing.

 

Finally, Eames was the one to point this out for Arthur, “If the mark was in the army _and_ trained to withstand torture then he must have had his subconscious prepared as well. We’ll be going up against a subconscious army…literally!”

 

“It’s worse than that,” Arthur sighed, resting his forehead in one hand as he leaned against the armrest of his chair. He shared a conflicted glance with Cobb before looking at every other team member seriously, “The new military program that the Colonel was leading was designed to train the dreamer’s subconscious to attack invaders in a new way. I’m not just talking strategic, militarized armies,” he met Eames’s gaze for a moment before moving on, “The subconscious actually turns the invader against themselves, or in our case turns our team members against each other.”

 

“How would the subconscious do that?” Ariadne asked. Arthur could see her fidgeting with her scarf nervously.

 

Arthur shrugged, “From the information I gathered? Mimicking the invaders or people we love, creating hallucinations, anything that could confuse our understanding of what reality is and who our allies are.”

 

“Well that sounds all well and lovely,” Eames muttered sarcastically, standing up from his chair, “But I think I’m going to pass on this one.”

 

“You haven’t even heard the worst of it yet,” Arthur set a challenge in his tone that he knew the other man could not resist. Arthur knew that he and Eames could barely manage to call each other co-workers, let alone friends, and that Eames’s personality of a mosquito buzzing around his ear would not disappear. But he dragged up every ounce of professionalism he possessed, knowing that they would never accomplish this job if even one team member left their circle.

 

Eames sat back down with a stiffness that spoke of tension, curiosity, and dread, “How could it possibly get worse, pet?”

 

Arthur ignored the name and stared down at his pad of paper for a long moment. “The job will only require one level in the dream--”

 

“Well that’s bloody easy, how is that bad news?” Eames spoke over him, clearly relieved.

 

Arthur aimed another harsh glare at the forger, quickly quieting him, “Maybe if you stopped interrupting me we might actually _get_ to the bad news.” He saw Eames’s sheepish smile before continuing, “The job will also require the use of an experimental compound Yusuf created for this which will--”

 

“Wait, wait, wait! Did I just hear the word _experimental_ come out of your mouth? And not in the sexual way I’d readily agree to?” Eames smirked, but it was clear to everyone that the joke was forced.

 

Arthur prayed for the patience he knew was quickly untwining, “Yes Eames, you did manage to hear the word ‘experimental’ over your inability to keep your mouth shut. I’m surprised you managed it, too.”

 

“I just finished creating the compound based on the employer’s requirements,” Yusuf finally stepped forward to defend his own work, giving Arthur a momentary break from Eames’s attention. “It is designed to force the dreamers into using parts of their own subconscious to create projections; specifically memories. So any projection you saw using this compound would represent a memory.”

 

“What happens if we kill the projections?” Ariadne asked, remembering her question to Cobb when they were on the third level during the inception job.

 

“That specific memory will be erased,” Yusuf answered helplessly, having nothing to lessen the blow that the truth held.

 

“Why would we even need a compound that could do that?” Ariadne looked flustered, glancing around to each member of their five person team.

 

“Because our job isn’t just extracting the information for the military,” Cobb cut in, everyone turning expectantly to their unofficial leader. Dom lifted his eyes and carefully met the gaze of every other team member, “We’re supposed to erase that information from his mind permanently.”

 

The silence that hung in the air after Cobb’s statement was thick and heavy. Arthur was surprised when it was Eames who stood from his chair in outrage in a very similar fashion to how Arthur had reacted privately when he and Dom had discussed this earlier. “Okay hang on a minute,” he blurted out, “We are toeing some serious ethical boundaries right now. I’m not even talking gray area here, this is full kettle black! We’d be completely altering this man’s mind.”

 

Eames caught Arthur’s gaze with a hard expression that wiped any former smile from his face. Arthur found that he could not break the eye contact until he heard Ariadne respond, finally having caught up to the implications of this job, “How could anyone even _justify_ something like this?”

 

“Marshall has been selling his information and they’re worried that it could lead to an outbreak of war,” Cobb spoke quietly, staring at his feet. It was quite clear that this thought weighed heavily on his mind.

 

“That’s not our problem; we shouldn’t be held personally responsible for stopping a war,” Eames spoke from his chair where he had sat back down, subdued for the moment. “Why doesn’t the military just pick him up? No more secrets being sold, no war.”

 

“If the military picks him up they’ll have to kill him; it’s the only way they’ll be able to guarantee Marshall won’t spill any more information,” Cobb finally looked up at Ariadne and Eames; he had already had a lengthy discussion about this with Yusuf and Arthur before the compound was even created. “Either we erase that information from his mind, allowing him to return to a normal life minus a few missing memories, or Marshall gets picked up and killed.”

 

“So you’re saying that we go under with this compound, which I’d like to remind everyone _has not been tested_,” Eames shot an apologetic glance at Yusuf, knowing it was not the man’s fault, “And we face a highly militarized subconscious _without_ being allowed to kill the majority of the projections lest we turn this man’s brain to mush.”

 

“More or less,” Yusuf muttered weakly.

 

“Why are you even getting involved in this, Cobb?” Ariadne asked after a long string of silence in the warehouse, “So soon after you got back to your children?”

 

Dom took a shaky breath and pushed himself away from the table, physically joining their circle. “I’m getting involved because I don’t know what will happen if we don’t do this.” The concern for his children’s wellbeing was written across his troubled face. No one met each other’s eye as they considered the ominous undertone of Cobb’s words. Eventually, the extractor spoke up again, “Listen, everyone needs to seriously consider what lines they are and are not willing to cross. Everyone think on it and we’ll meet back here tomorrow after dinner.”

 

Ariadne was the first to leave, rushing out of the warehouse as soon as her bag was packed. Yusuf disappeared shortly after to a separate room of the warehouse, muttering quietly that he was going to continue doing every test he could on the new compound without actually using it on someone. Arthur excused himself to return to his desk while Cobb packed up and prepared to leave and Eames remained thoughtful in his uncomfortable lawn chair. Arthur was trying to sort through all the information he had on the mark, anything to give them some advantage, but eventually he could barely keep his eyes open and clicked off his table light.

 

He was just slipping his bag over his shoulder, headed towards the warehouse entrance when he saw that Eames was still in his chair. The man was motionless and Arthur wondered if he had fallen asleep in the cool darkness. He walked over quietly, unsure of why he was being so careful not to make noise, and peered down at Eames. Arthur straightened back into his stiff posture as he realized he had been leaning over the man when Eames’s eyes fluttered open and he looked up at Arthur curiously. “I wondered if you had fallen asleep,” Arthur felt the need to explain himself.

 

Eames chuckled quietly, stretching like a newly awakened cat before standing up from the chair. “Are you sure you weren’t just enjoying staring at me, pet?”

 

“Hardly,” Arthur watched Eames emotionlessly as the forger wandered around picking up his bag and jacket.

 

Arthur did not even realize he was waiting for the other man until Eames stood beside him with a smile, “Thanks for waiting.”

 

“I wasn’t--” Arthur began, but what could he say otherwise?

 

“Sure thing, darling. Whatever you say,” Eames smirked before they both began walking out onto the street, locking up the warehouse behind them. Eames seemed uncomfortable with the silence, or maybe he really was incapable of keeping his mouth shut. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep at all tonight, thinking about this.”

 

“I’m not expecting to, either,” Arthur heard himself responding quietly before he could stop himself.

 

“You seemed pretty accepting of the job in the warehouse,” Eames seemed to be trying to keep any taint of blame from entering his voice.

 

“Well I wasn’t,” Arthur spoke a little harshly, “I don’t know what to think. The question alone of whether we have the right to erase someone’s memories is impossible to answer. Besides that there’s the question of whether it is right for us to risk every team member for one man who made his choices already.”

 

“The problem is that there is no right and wrong answer,” Eames spoke quietly, holding the hotel lobby door open as Arthur passed through it. “There’s just ‘wrong’ and ‘wrong’.” Arthur was genuinely surprised by the man’s depth as he considered this job, which must have shown on his face because Eames smiled at him smugly, “Didn’t think I deeper than a puddle, did you?”

 

Arthur shrugged, feeling a little guilty, but didn’t say anything. He only realized that Eames was trailing behind him out of the elevator when Arthur paused to slip his key into the hotel door. The door clicked open, which Arthur pressed a foot against so it wouldn’t close again as he looked back at Eames, “Isn’t your room on the ninth floor?”

 

“Yeah.” They were currently on the twelfth floor.

 

Arthur allowed himself the instinctive reaction of rolling his eyes in exasperation, “Goodnight, Eames.”

 

“Night, sweetheart,” Arthur heard Eames chuckle as he allowed the door to click shut behind him.

 

**\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -**

Everyone sat quietly in their haphazard circle, waiting for someone else to talk first. Eventually Cobb gave up and spoke his mind, “I think we should do the job because the implications of what might happen if we don’t are very dangerous. And I think as long as we test out the compound first to understand how to handle ourselves in this type of dream we will be able to erase the specific memories while leaving the rest of his mind fully intact.”

 

“I’ve completed every test I can do on the compound without a human subject,” Yusuf chimed in. “It’s stable and safe to inject so no one will get poisoned. The main concern will be dealing with the projections; killing the right ones while leaving the rest intact. It’ll take some time in these dreams to get accustomed to it and it will require _extreme_ caution.”

 

“It would require such care...” Ariadne held her hands tightly in her lap, not looking up at everyone else, “If we accidentally killed a projection, or even were forced to if the situation got bad...we could be erasing memories of his family, his kids—we wouldn’t know until it was too late.”

 

“Unless we could know for sure which memory each projection represented beforehand,” Cobb offered thoughtfully.

 

“Are you really going to just stand there though, gun pointed in your face and say ‘Oh hi, what memory are _you_?’” When Arthur looked over at Eames as he spoke he could tell that the other man had not slept much, if at all. Eames leaned back in his chair, clearly tired, “There’s so many risks with this...but if we could be absolutely sure that we knew what we were doing...we could give a man another chance at life.”

 

All eyes turned to Arthur and he forced himself to maintain his calm expression. “I think everyone is making good points, but everyone seems so caught up on keeping this man’s mind safe and not spending enough time realizing how much danger we’re putting ourselves in. After all, we will be the ones testing this compound and if we accidentally bring in our own projections we’re faced with the same danger as Marshall unknowingly would be.”

 

“I’d rather not end up in a mental hospital by the end of this year,” Eames chimed in helpfully.

 

“Neither would I,” Arthur traced the metal arm of his chair thoughtfully. “But I think if anyone was going to attempt this...we would be the best team to do it.”

 

Silence prevailed again until Cobb stepped forward, “Alright, we all agree that we’re breaching some severe moral codes here and that there are some devastating risks. We also agree that we need to test this compound and put in a lot of preparation before we can even consider doing this job.” Cobb sighed, looking worn out, “But we need to decide now so if you’re in, put your hand up.”

 

Cobb raised his own hand and watched as everyone else slowly, hesitantly raised their own. Arthur saw Eames look over at him, watching Arthur raise his hand before he raised his own. Everyone was in silent agreement but no one was willing to take the next step. Arthur stared at his notepad, building up his courage so that no one else would have to take the risk, “I’ll test the compound.”

 

No one had been willing to say it first, but now that Arthur had everyone else felt obligated as well. “Absolutely not; I’ll be testing the compound,” Cobb stated with his lips pressed into a thin line.

 

“You’re not testing the compound,” Arthur retorted immediately in a no-argument tone.

 

“Yeah, no one wants to face projections fuelled by your memories of Mal. Not to mention the fact that you have to remain fully intact for your children,” Ariadne pointed out. She steeled herself, “I’ll test the compound. I’m young so there aren’t a lot of life changing memories for me to lose.”

 

“Don’t turn yourself stupid just to be self sacrificing,” Eames cut in. “The very fact that you are so young means that there’s no way in hell we’re letting you test the compound. You haven’t made enough memories yet to afford losing any of them. I’m going to test the compound.”

 

“You’re not testing the compound,” Arthur bit out, frustrated that everyone felt obligated to make an offer. They had made a complete circle now, minus Yusuf who would be forced to stay in reality to monitor them. Did they not realize how dangerous this was? Arthur would feel better if they just let him do the tests.

 

“Actually darling, yes I am,” Eames crossed his arms in a ‘that’s final’ sort of gesture. “We could keep arguing back and forth but we both know how unproductive that is. Just close that pretty mouth of yours and agree.” Eames smirked when he saw Arthur’s mouth snap shut and a tint of red brush along his cheeks.

 

Arthur forced himself not to fidget under the other man’s gaze, thankful when those bright eyes were dragged away by Cobb clearing his throat. “Well I guess it’s settled then. Let’s start first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

Everyone stood up and stretched from where they had been sitting for the discussion, though Arthur was already halfway to his desk by the time anyone else’s feet touched the unyielding concrete. He was frustrated and agitated without an outlet so he pulled out his chair with a noisy scraping sound before sitting down and pouring through his research. He had pulled up more than enough information on their mark but the severe lack of information they held on the new compound left Arthur uneasy.

 

They knew that projections would represent memories and if that projection was killed then that memory would be erased. That was under the assumption that the compound actually worked the way it was supposed to. But how much was left unknown? Would projections act the way they were used to, just representing a fraction of the dreamer’s subconscious, or would they mimic that memory with appearance and behaviour? Would only the dreamer’s projections hold memories or would everyone who dropped into the original dreamer’s dreamscape have projections representing memories?

 

Arthur was startled out of his musings when he heard Eames pulling a chair over to the side of his desk, uncomfortable shivers running along his spine at the sound of rusted metal scraping on concrete. When Eames finally brought the chair to a rest and flopped down in it lazily Arthur sent him a glare, “Was that entirely necessary?”

 

“Not _entirely_, pet,” Eames gave him a mischievous grin. “So what have you been working on for so long?” Eames craned his neck up, glancing over the paper spread across Arthur’s desk.

 

Only at Eames’s words did Arthur realize how much time had passed, the sun well below the horizon now. He tapped his pen on the desk, irritated and not understanding why Eames insisted on asking him questions he already knew the answer to. What else would Arthur be working on? Instead of answering Eames’s question, Arthur instead asked, “What happened to everyone else?”

 

“They went home to catch up on some sleep, just like _you_ should be doing,” Eames spoke in exasperation, shaking his head because he knew Arthur would not listen.

 

Just as Eames assumed, Arthur blinked and turned back to his research, writing frantic notes, “I need to get all of this summarized before we do your trial run tomorrow.” Arthur heard Eames sigh and slide lower in his chair. He didn’t bother telling the man to go back to the hotel because one thing he knew for certain was that Eames was just as stubborn as he was.

 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he was suddenly coming back to consciousness. Eyes still closed as he slowly pulled himself out of a dreamless sleep Arthur took stock of what was going on around him. He was aware that he was moving, although he was not doing it himself. He could also feel a cool breeze brushing against one side of his body while his other side soaked up a comforting and relaxing heat. It was only as he grew more conscious that he began to realize what this implied. He felt two strong arms supporting him and that was when he blinked his eyes open, looking up quickly, “Eames, what the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

 

Eames glanced down at him with a smile but did not break his stride, “You fell asleep,” he said as if that explained every question Arthur could possibly think of.

 

Arthur struggled but just felt Eames tighten his grip, “You could have left me there.”

 

“To sleep in a cold warehouse all night? Darling, I think not,” Eames seemed entirely oblivious to the odd stares they were receiving from other individuals sharing the sidewalk with them.

 

Arthur buried his burning face into the rough fabric of Eames’s jacket slightly in embarrassment, worried that some random person would recognize him, “Why didn’t you just wake me up?” All he got in response was a chuckle and Arthur groaned, “Put me down, Eames. _Right now_.”

 

“Alright, whatever you want, pet,” Eames paused in his pace and allowed Arthur to slip out of his arms and regain his bearings.

 

Arthur bolted three steps away before smoothing his clothes back into place, trying not to act as uncomfortable and embarrassed as he felt. He calmed himself down after a moment, shrugging off Eames’s odd behaviour as yet another (successful) attempt at annoying Arthur. “Do me a favour, Eames. Stand there and don’t move until I’m out of sight.”

 

He could not make himself meet the other man’s playful eyes, instead turning on his heel and stalking away. He shivered as the breeze hit him, this time with no heat to counterbalance it even though Arthur ignored this thought avidly. He had only crossed two blocks, the hotel finally coming into view when Eames was suddenly at his shoulder, falling into a mirrored pace. “What happened to waiting until I was out of sight?” Arthur asked, knowing that he had been walking a straight line away from Eames.

 

“I closed my eyes,” Eames grinned wider than the Cheshire cat, pleased with his own wit.

 

Arthur sighed but gave up, “Of course you did.” They walked into the hotel together, their actions practically a replica of the night before. Arthur wasn’t sure what brought on the urge but Arthur felt compelled to speak, “You don’t have to be the one who tests the compound you know.”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about little old me, love,” Eames smirked at him, leaning against the hallway wall as Arthur worked his key out of his pocket. Eames had once again followed him past his own floor to Arthur’s door, much to Arthur’s annoyance. “But I’m not all that concerned; I’ve made plenty of memories and would be happy to see a few of them go.”

 

Arthur had had his door open but he allowed it to drop closed again with a thud at Eames’s words. He whirled on the surprised forger, “How could you _say_ that?” He watched Eames flounder for a moment, caught off guard without a comeback so Arthur pushed on. “Every single memory someone possesses shapes who they are, what they will become. Every memory is important.”

 

Eames blinked at the point man, surprised and curious as he leaned closer to Arthur with a look on his face like he was trying to dig secrets out of Arthur’s eyes. Arthur blinked and leaned away subconsciously, pressing himself against his door. Finally, Eames smiled, “Arthur darling, did you just tell me that you like me the way I am?”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes and turned, sliding his key in the lock and pushing his door open. He sent Eames a glare as his door fell closed, “Go to sleep, Eames.”

 

“That wasn’t a no, love!” he heard Eames’s triumphant voice call through the heavy wooden door as it clicked shut, leaving Arthur alone in his room. He could imagine Eames’s smirk in his mind on the other side of the door, which caused him to stalk away and prepare for sleep with a huff. Eames was still the mosquito buzzing around his ear.

 

**\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -**

 

Everyone had their chairs in a semi circle surrounding the dream device while Yusuf was standing by preparing the compound. There had been another long argument about who would test the compound, everyone finally agreeing upon Eames due to his sheer stubbornness. Now they were trying to determine the best and safest method to test the compound.

 

They decided that Eames would take the compound and go under on his own for a minute to see what it was like for a solo dreamer first. Then Arthur would go down, without taking the compound, to see the differences when dream sharing and to see if the compound’s effects were transferred to other dreamers. Another minute after that Cobb and Ariadne would go under to see what it was like and to determine if the compound affected the number of dreamers a dream could support.

 

“The most important rule:” Cobb restated while everyone relaxed in their chairs and Yusuf came over to Eames to slip a needle into his arm and inject the compound, “Don’t do anything to kill or harm any projections, even in self preservation. We’re only going one level down and there is no sedation so if you die you’ll just wake up.”

 

“Yeah, no messing around with my brain,” Eames pointed an accusatory finger at everyone jokingly, pausing on Arthur. “That goes for you too, darling. No weeding out the stuff you don’t like.”

 

Arthur sat up, offended that Eames would even suggest something like that. But before he even took a breath to retort Eames had sent him a wink and slipped the needle under his skin, falling asleep. Arthur leaned back in his chair, back still stiff. “He was just joking, you know,” Cobb reassured him quietly.

 

“Well he shouldn’t joke about something like that,” Arthur took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down as Yusuf handed him another lead. When a minute had passed he nodded at Cobb and Ariadne and slipped the needle under his skin, immediately feeling himself being pulled down.

 

When he opened his eyes he found himself in downtown London on the edge of the Thames opposite the London Eye. Arthur wondered if Eames had chosen this location specifically or if it had been dragged up from a memory, forced by the compound. He began walking along the sidewalk that lined the Thames, watching Eames’s projections curiously. None of them looked like the other man, surprising Arthur; he had assumed that they might carry the appearance of the memory.

 

He purposefully bumped shoulders with one, wondering if he could trigger the memory upon contact, but the projection merely sent him a warning glare and continued walking. He found Eames then, sitting on a bench overlooking the water. The forger stood up when he saw him and they began walking away from the river and deeper into the city together in silence. Arthur wanted to tell Eames off about his joke but realized that now was not the time, and instead recited what he had learned, “I’m surprised that your projections don’t appear as they would in the memory. And unfortunately I can’t trigger a memory playback through contact to know which projection holds which memory.”

 

“Really, you can’t trigger a memory? As soon as I have skin on skin contact with a projection I can see that memory in my mind. It happened when I brushed hands with someone passing me,” Arthur could see Eames unconsciously move his fingers, like trying to stretch out an uncomfortable feeling.

 

“Then I guess we’ll need Marshall’s help if we do the job in order to find the right memories,” Arthur spoke more to himself, voicing the notes he was mentally taking. They walked in silence for another while until they came to Trafalgar Square; based on the length of the walk Cobb and Ariadne would be arriving soon. He and Eames sat down on the steps in front of the National Art Gallery, looking over the courtyard. “Your projections are being surprisingly calm with me here,” Arthur noted offhandedly.

 

“Yeah, I found that surprising too since my projections are often pretty suspicious by nature just because of how much dream work I’ve done; compound or not,” Eames shrugged his shoulders helplessly, unable to explain it.

 

All of a sudden, as if on some hidden cue, every single projection stopped in their tracks and turned their attention to the far end of the square where the statue of Nelson presided. It wasn’t just projections milling about the square either; Arthur saw projections on the sidewalks and streets stop and turn as well. Again, as if on cue, the projections began walking to the base of the statue where, now that Arthur looked closer, he could see Cobb and Ariadne. “Eames, we need to help them.”

 

He wasn’t sure why that urge suddenly came to his mind, knowing that they would wake up if they died. But the fear of an experimental compound causing some other reaction as well as seeing a horde of projections all close in on Cobb and Ariadne at once made him momentarily panic. Eames was already halfway down the stairs and Arthur was about to follow when he felt arms grip him from all sides and begin dragging him backwards. “Eames!” was all he got out before a hand was clamped over his mouth.

 

Arthur struggled frantically, not knowing what the projections would do since they were not immediately trying to kill him, but there were too many people holding onto him at the same time for him to break free. He had been too busy watching the square converge on Dom and Ariadne to notice another swarm of projections pouring out of the Art Gallery behind him. He itched to grab hold of his gun but restrained the urge, not willing to wipe out Eames’s memories.

 

Suddenly he was dropped to the ground, back hitting the sharp angle of the stone stairs painfully. As he groaned and pushed himself away from the ground he saw Eames shoving through his own projections, yelling at them to stop. Arthur was shocked that the projections actually listened and were creating a small circle around Arthur. Eames kneeled down in front of him, a step or two lower on the staircase, and pulled out a gun from an inside pocket of his jacket. Arthur saw that projections were beginning to take a careful hold on Eames, his jacket, his arms, his body, trying to slowly pull him away. He saw Eames swallow and point the gun at Arthur’s head, “Do me a favour, love? Come back for me.”

 

Arthur gasped and blinked his eyes open, seeing Cobb, Ariadne and Yusuf watching him in concern. He looked over at Eames sharply, only to see that the man was still asleep. “They have him, the projections. We need to go back for him,” he tried to make himself sound calmer than he felt; though he didn’t think he was very successful.

 

“Okay, first of all tell us what happened,” Yusuf spoke from where the device was set up and still running.

 

“Eames and I were at Trafalgar Square watching the projections and discussing how he could trigger memories with touch but I couldn’t. The projections seemed to be acting—well not normal, but relaxed and happy.” Arthur shrugged, just as confused about it now as when they had been in the dream. “That was until Cobb and Ariadne showed up and all the projections converged on them. Eames went to go help you guys but came back and woke me up when the projections began dragging me away. He asked me to come back for him.”

 

“Well I’m glad someone is welcome in Eames’s subconscious,” Ariadne muttered. Only then did Arthur notice how she was still rubbing her cheek with a scowl.

 

“What do you mean? What happened to you two?” When he had gotten dragged away by the projections he had lost sight of Cobb and Ariadne.

 

“We got there and the projections came up to us. They told us that we weren’t welcome there,” Cobb spoke calmly but his eyes were confused and troubled.

 

“And then we got a smashed bottle to the face,” Ariadne glared over at the sleeping Eames. She knew that he could not control his subconscious, but it had still been very painful.

 

“We’ve already wasted too much time,” Arthur grabbed his lead, ready to put it under his skin again. That was the problem with your brain functioning at a higher capacity in dreams. It was really handy when you needed more time than reality gave you, but hours could flash by in minutes when you were in reality, potentially leaving someone alone in a dangerous situation.

 

“Why don’t you just disconnect him from the machine?” Ariadne asked, already reaching for the needle in Eames’s wrist.

 

“Don’t touch that!” Yusuf jumped forward and stilled her hand quickly. “If we disconnect him from the machine and he doesn’t wake up it means we won’t be able to reconnect to his dream to help him escape,” he explained quickly. It was clear that the chemist was getting a little frantic over what his compound was doing to one of his team-mates.

 

Ariadne pulled her hand away from the needle as if she had been burned, eyes wide at what she had almost done by accident. “Arthur, we aren’t letting you go down there alone,” Cobb spoke calmly, trying to make him see reason.

 

“Why not? The projections seemed perfectly content with me there until you two showed up,” Arthur pointed out, itching to slip the metal under his skin, feeling that momentary prick and pinch before he slipped under into a dreamscape.

 

“But they weren’t trying to kill you like they did to us,” Cobb held a hand up as if trying to convey the meaning ‘one moment please, I’m about to make a serious point’. “They were trying to drag you away. And if they drag you away somewhere how will we possibly get you out? How could you help Eames?”

 

Arthur sat back in his chair with a small noise of frustration and impatience, but he nodded. “Alright, so what’s the plan? There’s no way we’ll know how to find Eames.”

 

“We’ll let you go under first and hope that the projections are willing to talk to you without us there. Then we’ll be there to make sure the projections don’t drag you away,” Cobb explained, already sitting back in his chair, holding the lead ready.

 

“And if they don’t tell Arthur?” Ariadne asked, also preparing the lead to slip under her skin as soon as Cobb gave her the word.

 

“Then we’ll just keep looking until we find him,” Arthur stated firmly. He felt uncomfortable when everyone gave him a slightly curious look, “We’d do this for any one of our team.” Why were they looking at him like that? He shrugged it off, steeling himself for what was waiting for him down below. “It’s going to be painful if we can’t kill Eames’s projections,” he thought out loud.

 

He wondered if it was right to ask everyone to willingly walk into a situation where they knew they’d be killed multiple times – painfully and without mercy. “We’ll manage,” Cobb gave him a steady nod and Ariadne flashed him a reassuring smile. “You’ll have a little less than sixty seconds before we’ll be on your tail,” was the last thing he heard before Arthur slipped in the cool metal of the needle and fell into sleep.

 

He blinked and found himself standing in almost the exact same position as where Eames had sent him back to reality. He was standing at the top of the staircase overlooking the square, the Art Gallery at his back. Projections were milling around normally, shooting him occasional curious glances but otherwise passing him by. Arthur did not have time to consider this as he stepped in the path of a middle aged business man. “Watch where you’re going,” the man tried to sidestep him, sounding more condescending than angry.

 

“I’m looking for Eames,” Arthur stepped back into the man’s path, breaking his momentum.

 

“Why?” the man looked him over, considering him. “What do you think you can do?”

 

“I want to help him,” Arthur admitted, unsure of what he should say to get the information he needed.

 

The man fell into a relaxed position, no longer attempting to walk past Arthur. Arthur felt the man’s eyes roam over him and then fix on his face. He also noticed that other projections were stopping and focusing their attention on him as well. He forced himself to remain calm and not make any sudden movements. “Then help him,” the man finally spoke, reaching forward and grasping hold of Arthur’s vest, “He is waiting for you under the waves.”

 

The projections that had paused earlier were now crowding in around Arthur, grasping onto his clothing or arms. He felt them tugging him down the stairs, towards the direction Arthur knew the Thames was. He fought the hold but there were too many people overpowering him, keeping him from gaining any leverage. “What do you mean?” he asked the business man but he merely smiled and dragged him along.

 

They were at the bottom of Trafalgar Square now, just about to head into the busy streets of downtown London when all of the projections stopped and sharply turned towards the Art Gallery. There Arthur could see Cobb and Ariadne rushing down the steps, pushing projections away as harshly as they dared, approaching him. Arthur renewed his efforts and managed to break free of the projections’ grasp, stumbling away.

 

Dom and Ariadne ran up to him and pushed him into a run with barely a moment’s pause. Arthur stumbled but met their pace and they all dashed away from the square and into the downtown streets. “I think we need to go to the Thames,” Arthur yelled at them, barely dodging a projection’s car as it tried to stop their progress.

 

Cobb nodded and altered their path slightly. Projections were pouring out of street level stores and out of apartment buildings, all attempting to block their path. They came upon the projection of a police officer, hurrying out of his car and pulling a gun from his holster. “Keep going!” Cobb yelled, dodging into the bullet’s path.

 

Arthur watched Dom fall to the sidewalk, dead, before the extractor flickered out of existence. He took hold of Ariadne’s hand to pull her into an alleyway, thankful that he knew the London streets from previous visits and research. They barely made it out onto the wider streets in time before a bunch of projections swarmed out of hidden doors in the alley walls that Arthur had not even noticed.

 

As they rushed along the curved streets towards the courtyard outside Westminster Abbey they saw Cobb on the street corner. The extractor immediately met their pace and joined their side as they rushed by the Abbey and Big Ben. Arthur could see the Millennium Bridge that he knew passed over the Thames, his speed picking up even though his body was screaming in protest. He barely had enough energy to consider the business man’s words, not knowing what he would do when he reached the water.

 

He heard a scream, quickly cut off as he saw Ariadne fall to the sidewalk and leave the dream. He only managed to meet Cobb’s eyes for a split second before the other man was caught by some hidden sniper and hit the pavement. Arthur returned his focus to the bridge, not allowing himself to consider the excruciating pain the others had put themselves through to help him reach Eames. But a huge group of projections stood in a type of human barricade in front of him, blocking his path to the bridge.

 

They moved closer, gripping him more firmly now as they dragged him down. Again Arthur itched to grab his gun, fighting off the new instincts he had picked up with enough dream work. There were so many projections around him that he could barely breathe and could hardly see the sky. But then he heard Ariadne’s voice, “Get off him!”

 

He saw the architect barrel through the group of projections; many had been caught off guard so they were momentarily pushed aside. Dom was right behind her, knocking projections away and pulling Arthur to his feet. They used brute force to shove through the surprised projections, getting Arthur into open air beside the bridge. “Do what you have to do,” Cobb nodded at him before the projections yanked him back.

 

Arthur did not take the time to see if Ariadne and Cobb had already been woken up again. He didn’t even take the time to consider what it was that he had to do. He just dashed down the bridge, not knowing what he was doing. As he approached the middle of the bridge he saw that a group of projections was headed towards him on both sides, blocking him in; so much for the odd friendliness he had received before. The Thames was rushing past him below the bridge and without a hesitation in his stride he vaulted himself over the bridge’s railing.

 

He freefell, suit jacket fluttering around him as projections stopped in their tracks on the bridge to watch. There was a moment of weightlessness and then he hit the cold water hard, the fast current quickly sweeping him away and under. He held his breath for as long as he managed but eventually he began to feel the burn in his lungs, his body screaming for oxygen. For a desperate moment he struggled for the surface, worried he had wasted all their work just to die and wake up anyway, but the current would not relinquish its newfound hold on him.

 

His eyes burned as he tried to open them, looking for a hint of which way was up. He continued tumbling, feeling the pressure of the water around him and his brain slowly losing consciousness. As he sunk down, deeper than he thought the Tames would be, he finally felt his lungs rebel and breathe in water. He choked, but this only filled his lungs with more water and he felt his consciousness drift away from his hold.


	2. Part II

**Part II**

 

When Arthur regained consciousness he realized he was still falling. But he was no longer swallowed by the murky waters of the Thames. Instead it seemed as if he was falling through the space. Everywhere he looked it was like he was gazing up at the night sky; above him, below him, surrounding him there was darkness and stars. He could not determine how fast he was falling without any reference points and he wondered if it even mattered – if he’d ever come across anything again or if he’d just keep falling.

 

He closed his eyes when he became dizzy watching the inky blackness and winking stars spin around him. This meant that, sometime later, he was rather startled to see a platform rushing up to meet him when he blinked his eyes open. With no possible method of slowing himself down before contact, Arthur clenched his eyes closed. Back in the dream he had been worried about dying because of the compound; here he wondered if he would ever wake up since he didn’t know where he was.

 

The inevitable crushing pain Arthur was expecting never came. He did not know his descent had lost momentum because his eyes were closed and there was no form of wind, but there was no other explanation for why he suddenly felt his back softly come into contact with the cobbled platform. Arthur spread his hands along the ground, feeling the smoothness of the cool stones beneath his fingertips. His hands were shaking with adrenaline and disbelief and he could not force himself out of his lying position.

 

He did blink his eyes open though, feeling the uneven platform supporting him, and could not stop one of his eyebrows from rising. “Hello, darling,” Arthur found Eames standing beside him, leaning over him curiously. “I’m rather glad you actually came for me, though this was probably the one time you shouldn’t have listened to me.”

 

Arthur meant to ask what Eames meant but instead he felt his hand rising and hesitantly brushing along Eames’s cheek. “Eames...were you _crying_?”

 

Eames blinked his eyes opened and scowled, pulling away from Arthur’s touch. “No! Of course not.”

 

Arthur knew the forger was lying, having both seen and felt the half-dried tear tracks marking the man’s face, but he let the man save some of his pride. Instead, he turned over and began pushing himself into a kneeling and then standing position. He felt Eames grab his arm firmly to help him up and he allowed it, silently grateful for the added support when he found himself a little disoriented. Once he was standing and felt comfortable with his own balance he took a small step away from Eames, “So what did you mean when you said I shouldn’t have listened to you?”

 

“We can’t get out,” Eames supplied simply.

 

“What do you mean, we can’t get out?”

 

Eames shrugged, “I tried but...well, I couldn’t get past it.”

 

“Get past _what_, Eames? You’re being extremely unhelpful,” despite the seriousness of the situation Arthur felt his usual frustration towards the forger emerge once again.

 

“Well I apologize that things are not _suiting_ you, darling,” Eames quickly closed the distance between them that Arthur had created earlier. He seemed annoyed but also happy, the tear tracks now dried from existence. Arthur felt Eames wrap a lose arm around his shoulder, spinning him around. “Get past _that_.”

 

Arthur looked up in wonder at what he was seeing, tipping over into Eames slightly as he lost his balance to a sense of disorientation and vertigo. On the edge of their platform a spiralling staircase of marble began, twisting upwards into the night sky. Though the stairs seemed solid they bent and swayed slightly as the platforms they were connected to floated aimlessly in the stars. He could count six platforms drifting above their own, five connected to the staircase and the last one trailing along behind the end of the staircase. “What _is_ it?” he heard himself asking.

 

“Each platform holds one of my worst memories,” Eames breathed and Arthur could only assume his voice was filled with dread because he had already tried to face one.

 

“Well, let’s go face your worst memories then,” Arthur sent the other man a challenging but encouraging smirk. “You couldn’t face them before but maybe you just needed someone else there to face them with you.”

 

“Maybe,” was all Eames said before he began walking towards the beginning of the spiralling staircase. Arthur followed him, one step behind him all the way. The walk seemed to take a really long time but they never grew tired or out of breath.

 

The staircase began to level out and Arthur saw another platform drifting down in front of them. As they walked closer a barrier of dark fog seemed to appear and darken around the edges of the platform, blocking anything on the platform from his view. He could see Eames shoot him a nervous glance before they both stepped onto the platform.

 

The barrier of fog allowed them easy passage and darkened around them like a movie was about to begin, though Arthur could still vaguely make out the brightly lit white marble of the stairs behind him. He took one more step forward and felt like he had walked directly into a memory. He could tell he was in some house’s den or living room, probably where Eames grew up, even though it was dimly lit. The sharp tang of blood hit his nose immediately, causing him to halt sharply in surprise. He could only manage to make out three shadowy figures, two standing and one on the floor before he was yanked backwards.

 

He found himself back on the staircase next to Eames, as if they were attached by a tether. At first Arthur didn’t know what to say, having expected Eames’s ‘worst’ memories to be relatively normal. Apparently he had been very wrong. He saw that Eames had his back facing him, hands resting on his knees as he hunched over. Arthur did not know exactly what the memory was, but it couldn’t be good if Eames was fighting down the urge to throwing up. “I can’t do it Arthur.”

 

Arthur shifted his weight uneasily at the sound of Eames’s voice. He had never heard the man sound so open before...or so heartbroken; Arthur was not used to Eames showing him more than that cocky, flirtatious mask. He walked up beside Eames and placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping that it would be comforting. “You can, Eames. You’ve already beaten this once and moved on; you can do it again.”

 

“I can’t,” Eames was shaking his head, though he had straightened into a full standing position again. “I’ve never beaten this Arthur,” he caught Arthur’s gaze, trying to convey so much more than Arthur expected, “I just repressed it.”

 

Arthur swallowed and changed tactics, “Listen, you have to face this. Not just to get back to reality but for yourself. You need to accept these memories and move on.” He saw in Eames’s downcast eyes and clenched jaw that he knew Arthur was right but was unwilling to take that step back into the fog they were both staring at now. “I’ll help you however I can.”

 

He heard Eames take a steadying breath and look up at the swirling fog, already knowing what was awaiting him. Arthur stood beside him, waiting to step back into Eames’s first memory when the other man was prepared. He felt Eames brush his fingers along Arthur’s in a manner that could be brushed off as a mistake if Arthur reacted poorly. Arthur slowly opened his hand and twined his fingers between Eames’s waiting ones silently. He felt a little awkward, holding hands with Eames, and even more uncomfortable when he realized how nice it was to feel the warmth of the other man’s palm against his own. But he wanted to help the forger through this, and not just to get himself back to reality he realized.

 

It was Eames who eventually took the leading step back into the fog, pulling Arthur along behind him. This time they were on the platform long enough for the memory to fully solidify around Arthur, giving him a chance to look around as if he was actually standing in the den. He took in the details of the room; bookshelves of trinkets, a ratty old couch with a spilled bowl of chips strewn across the cushions, and the television flickering between shots, blaring sports calls.

 

His eyes fell to the carpet and his hand automatically tightened around Eames’s fingers, realizing that he was standing on a carpet soaked with blood. Dreading what he would find his eyes followed the blood to where it was pooled under the motionless form of some middle aged woman. He saw a man, also middle aged, standing over her form holding a knife in his shaking hand.

 

The last form in the room was of a little boy, no older than ten. His brown hair fell in a mop from his head and with a hidden sense of horror Arthur noticed those same blue green eyes staring down at the woman’s form, tears falling so quickly they dripped off the child’s chin and onto the carpet. Arthur looked over at Eames without a thing to say, a feeling of heavy dread falling over him. But Eames’s eyes were flickering between the woman and the man as the memory began to play.

 

“This is entirely your fault!” the middle aged man pointed the tip of the knife at the young Eames, edge gleaming in the small beam of light slipping through the window’s curtains. “If you had been a better son then things would have been better. It’s because of you that I lost my temper and hurt your mom. Now she’s dead _because of you_!”

 

Arthur barely had time to realize what was happening here, that Eames’s father had killed his mother and blamed him for it. He felt sick but couldn’t think about that as he felt Eames try to run off the platform again. Arthur clenched his fingers tightly, holding him in place as best he could despite Eames weighing more than him. “Eames, wait!” Arthur spun, wrapping his free hand around Eames’s wrist and digging his feet into the carpet, trying not to think about the blood. “You _cannot_ believe this! It’s not your fault!”

 

“Of _course_ it is!” Eames whirled around quickly, causing Arthur to stumble into him. “If I had been less of a disappointment then he wouldn’t have drank so much; he wouldn’t have been angry all the time. My mother wouldn’t have had to sacrifice herself to keep her worthless son safe!”

 

Arthur stood close to Eames, too close after he had regained his balance. He saw the man’s eyes grow wet, his Adam’s apple bob as he fought down tears. There was no cocky swagger, no flirtatious smile, and no sarcastic and happy quips. This was the man that Eames had buried far below his light-hearted mask. This was the man he had never been allowed to see before now. Arthur wondered briefly if this was why Eames enjoyed being a forger so much, constantly taking on new masks and leaving himself far behind.

 

He heard Eames’s father begin his rant again, the memory looping. Arthur tightened his hold on Eames’s shaking hand and raised his voice to drown out the middle aged man, “You didn’t make him this way, Eames,” Arthur made sure the man was watching him and not the memory replaying. “He still would have spent time drinking, he still would have been angry, and eventually he probably would have done this anyway. It wasn’t you...he just needed an excuse.”

 

They stood there for a long time, too close to one another as Eames tried to focus on Arthur’s words through the memory’s loop. Arthur watched as a few stray tears escaped when Eames dropped his head, gravity pulling them down his cheeks. Arthur felt the urge to brush them away but held himself back, not wanting to disrupt the other man’s thought process.

 

Finally Eames began pulling Arthur across the dim living room, manoeuvring around the couch to avoid the other figures in the room. They passed through the barrier of fog, the memory dissolving behind them as they traveled a few steps up the next staircase. Eames pulled his hand quickly from Arthur’s and turned his back to Arthur again, staring out at the surrounding night sky. His shoulders were hunched over and trembling when he spoke, “I can’t forget that Arthur. I can’t get it out of my head.”

 

“You don’t need to forget it,” Arthur tried to place a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder again but Eames pulled away. “You just need to accept that it wasn’t your fault and move on.” He heard Eames mutter something but couldn’t make out what it was as he saw him run a hand through his hair. “What was that?”

 

“I can’t believe you’re seeing all this,” Eames muttered again. From the way he sounded Arthur could tell that he was devastated that his most important secrets were being spilled to a co-worker.

 

Arthur forced himself to momentarily put aside his own concerns over their situation, feeling like a true invader as he watched Eames struggle with his memories, entirely uninvited. He put a firm hand on the man’s shoulder to keep him from spinning away again and stood face to face with the forger. He saw tears falling from his eyes and running down his face in a painful mix of embarrassment and heartbreak at reliving the repressed memory of his mother’s murder. “I’m sorry I’m invading on your private memories, but stop wasting your energies on being embarrassed, alright? When we get out of here I’m not going to share this with anyone.”

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about, darling,” Eames brushed away the last few stray tears harshly with his sleeve, seeming to regain some grasp over his normal mask even though he allowed Arthur’s hand to remain on his shoulder. “This isn’t the part of me I wanted you to know.”

 

“I’m actually glad I’m getting to know you as more than the co-worker whose only goal in life is to annoy me,” Arthur admitted, wondering if he should be saying these things. “Obviously this isn’t how I wanted it to happen and...Well I didn’t even know that I wanted to know you better before this. But it’s true,” he gave Eames a tiny smirk, glad when it brought a similar smirk to the other man’s face.

 

Arthur trailed off, feeling his own wave of embarrassment. He was surprised at his own realization, never expecting to want to get _closer_ with the pain in the ass that was the forger. But his words seemed to have been chosen well because Eames was brightening up like the slow but steady dawn. “Well...” Arthur noticed Eames licking his lips before speaking, “wait until you see what else my subconscious has in store.”

 

The point man raised an eyebrow, “You certainly cheered up quickly.”

 

“You didn’t think the way I acted up in reality was entirely a mask, did you?” Eames smiled light-heartedly; very similar to the smiles that would occasionally curve his lips when Arthur did something that amused him. “These other platforms above us may hold my most unpleasant memories, but we have already made it through my worst one,” Eames’s smile faltered slightly, but he continued on. “I loved my mom, and I could barely comprehend that she was gone and...at the time the idea that it was my fault.”

 

Eames’s voice trailed off and he watched Arthur’s face curiously, reading for signs that would tell him more than Arthur meant to tell as the forger reached forward and twined their fingers together once again. Arthur forced himself to keep his face neutral as he allowed the touch. “So do you want to see what else my mind has in store for us?”

 

“Don’t you mean what the gutter has in store for us?” Arthur rolled his eyes, glad to see that trademark smirk return to Eames’s face.

 

“Perhaps,” Eames raised a suggestive eyebrow at him before pulling him up the staircase.

 

Eames paused for one moment longer to glance back at the first memory’s platform, taking a shaky breath. Arthur saw him bow his head slightly in his own farewell to that memory before he was dragged further up the staircase. “You don’t have to completely revert back to the way you are in reality you know; a little depth _is_ a welcome change.”

 

“And deprive you of my wit and charm, pet? Never,” Eames flashed him a wink. It seemed like a much shorter journey up the marble staircase this time and before they had even realized it they were standing on the edge of the next platform. Though it was hard to tell, Arthur thought that the sky looked a tiny bit brighter, the stars dimming in comparison. It was like they were slowly traveling higher than some invisible horizon and they would eventually come upon the sun.

 

Eames only sent him a quick glance, looking for confirmation before pulling them both into the fog as another memory fell into place around them. They found themselves in a brightly lit kitchen, sunlight streaming in through thin yellow curtains hanging in front of the windows. They were standing by the sink which held a small pile of unwashed dishes, looking over at the tiny kitchen table covered in unpaid bills, a ratty old sports magazine, and a small knitting basket in one corner.

 

Beside the table Arthur could see a younger Eames, probably only around five, with his father towering over him, holding a lined piece of paper tightly in one hand. Arthur realized that this memory had happened before the death of Eames’s mother, but he was distracted from his thoughts when he saw the man bring a flat palm down hard across young Eames’s face. The force he had used sent the child against the table, wind knocked out of his lungs and lip split.

 

Arthur took a step forward, ready to intervene when he felt Eames’s hand tighten around his own and hold him back. He sent the forger a frustrated and questioning glance and Eames just smiled sadly, “You’re twenty six years too late, love.”

 

This just irritated Arthur more but he agreed to stand back as the man who didn’t deserve to be called a father began yelling, waving the crumpled sheet of paper in his hand furiously. “What is this bullshit? ‘When I grow up I want to live in dreams’?” the man quoted from the mini essay Eames must have written in class. “Really, that’s what you want to do with your life? Live in dreams? Well tough shit because it doesn’t work that way. Do you think living in fantasy land will pay these bills?” Eames’s father picked up a handful of bills and threw them at the crying child, “Do you want your mother and me to starve to death supporting you as you chase _dreams_?”

 

“I’m sorry, dad,” the child wailed, a small amount of blood trailing down his chin.

 

“You aren’t sorry yet, but you will be. Want to know why? Because when these dreams of yours fail I’m not going to give up my hard earned money to bail you out!” the man yelled before stalking out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

 

As the dream began its loop Arthur realized how tense his shoulders were, how _angry_ he was. He struggled to remain calm and collected, surprised when it Eames who placed the hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. “How can you be fine with this?” he blurted out even as Eames began leading him to the far end of the platform.

 

“This was a terrible memory because it made me question who I was and what I wanted to be for years. I still do, sometimes. But I’ve already put this one behind me because he was wrong. I’ve made a career out of living in dreams and, if I do say so myself, I’m one of the best out there. My only regret,” Eames added as they passed through the barrier of fog and back under the night sky, “is that the bastard died before I could shove it in his face.”

 

Arthur licked his lips as they left the second memory behind them, wondering if he should ask the question on his mind. But Eames seemed to notice his hesitation and raised a questioning eyebrow so Arthur took a breath, “What happened to him?”

 

Eames nodded, as if understanding and allowing Arthur this question. “After he...killed my mother,” Eames had to take a minute to swallow, “he was found guilty and put in jail even though he tried to frame me for it. But he paid the lawyers everything we had and they got him out in seven years.” He seemed to notice that Arthur was still watching him so he continued, “As for how he died, well I’m sure that memory will be waiting for me somewhere up there,” he sent a glance skyward at the marble steps spiralling above them.

 

Arthur sent a similar glance upwards, assured in his previous assumption that the sky was lightening. The stars still prevailed, shimmering over their dark backdrop, but the sky was definitely moving towards a type of dawn. He decided to say nothing more as they climbed the steps in compatible silence, the concepts of normal living not reaching them down here. They felt no desire for food or rest and Arthur briefly wondered how long they had been down here as they came upon the next platform.

 

They both walked onto the platform and into the waiting memory without hesitation this time. Arthur still felt the weight of the previous memories resting on his mind, but he was slightly reassured by Eames’s assurance that they had already made it through the worst memory. Arthur certainly hoped so because that sharp tang of blood still grasped his mind firmly.

 

He was distracted from his painfully fresh memories as the new memory began its first cycle around him. Before he could even grasp what was happening around him he felt Eames drop his hand like it was a hot coal, his cheeks burning red. Arthur looked on as he saw Eames, approaching the end of his teenage years, pinned to his bed by another boy around the same age. Arthur wondered if he should look or turn away as he saw the faceless boy slip a hand under Eames’s shirt, feeling his own cheeks turn hot.

 

But before he could tear his eyes away he heard a sharp knock at the bedroom door before it was flung open into the wall, undoubtedly chipping off some of the paint. Eames’s father strode in, a look of disgust and outrage on his face as he grabbed the boy’s collar and yanked him off his son. “Leave!” he yelled, and the nameless boy did not need to be told twice, rushing down the stairs without a backwards glance.

 

The younger Eames had hurried off the bed and pressed his back against his closet door. “Dad, I didn’t know you were coming back--”

 

“So this is what you did while I was in jail?” the man spoke over the trembling boy, “Turned yourself into a whore and let guys fuck you? Is that how you paid the bills or do you actually like it?” he sneered down at the teen, disgust evident. “If I had known sooner then I would have put you out on the street corner years ago. At least then you’d be providing some money for the family.”

 

“Dad, I don’t—I mean I didn’t--” Eames stuttered, flinching automatically when his father lifted a hand.

 

But the older man, looking angry but worn out, dropped his hand back to his side. “You always were a useless piece of shit. I won’t stand for that and now you letting guys touch you like that. I won’t live a moment longer with a son like you.”

 

The man stalked out of the room, the door closed with a slam, and the memory began replaying. Eames cleared his throat in embarrassment as they saw his younger form pinned under another again, “Shall we uh...move on?”

 

Arthur nodded and followed Eames off the platform, trying to hide his own embarrassment. They both paused a short way up the next staircase, both speaking at once and then falling into an awkward silence. It was Arthur who eventually cleared his throat to speak again, “It’s not a big deal.”

 

“Of course not,” Eames nodded quickly, hands stuffed in his pockets.

 

“I mean, if I didn’t know that about you by now I don’t think I’d have a right to say my profession was researching people,” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, finally feeling the blush leave his cheeks.

 

“Yeah you’d uh...be a pretty crappy point man,” Eames chuckled, glancing back at the platform they had left. “I know who I am now,” he nodded, as if assuring himself of this fact, “But back then it was just another layer of guilt added to what I thought I could have done differently to save my mother.”

 

“Are you ready to move on?” Arthur asked quietly, a few steps ahead of the forger on the staircase.

 

Eames spent a moment looking over the smooth railing of the staircase to the platforms floating below them. Then he turned with a small smile, “Of course.” Eames skipped a few steps to come level with Arthur before continuing his dash up the spiralling marble. He turned an expectant glance back at the point man who rolled his eyes in amused exasperation before following. When they came to the next platform Eames put an arm out, stopping Arthur briefly. “I think I know which memory this will be. You’ll probably want to duck.”

 

“What do you...mean?” Arthur trailed off as Eames passed through the fog. With a frustrated sigh Arthur followed him into the fourth memory. Even with Eames’s warning Arthur barely had time to duck as an expensive looking vase flew over his head and shattered on the wall behind him.

 

“I am sick of this, Eames! Sick to _death_ of this!” a china plate hit the tiled floor and cracked apart, half-eaten breakfast scattering.

 

“I was going to eat that...” Eames muttered mournfully, staring down at his former breakfast. The forger was standing by a small kitchen counter and looked similar to when he had joined Arthur and Cobb on a job for the first time. He looked about five years younger, telltale scruff and familiar short hair present, though the Eames’s hair was standing on end, mussed from sleep.

 

“Could you listen to me for _one second_? God, you never _listen_!” Eames dodged the other breakfast plate as he hit the fridge door. Arthur took note of the woman storming around the uncomfortably small flat, screaming and hurling anything that wasn’t bolted down at the younger Eames. She was rather stunning to look at, even in a rage.

 

She was slim but possessed all the right curves, short enough that she probably only reached Eames’s chin when standing next to him. Arthur had to admit to himself that it was more than a little amusing watching this petite woman chasing a fleeing Eames around the flat. Her straight blonde hair flew free and it was clear that they had both woken up a short time before this. In the short moment where the woman was looking in his direction Arthur was quite sure that her sharp blue eyes could have melted steel.

 

The younger forger rushed out of the kitchen when the woman reached the cutlery drawer. But she seemed bored of throwing items at Eames and instead trashed everything she could grab before turning her attention to stuffing her possessions in some bags. “Ever since you did that job in Berlin you haven’t stopped talking about him!” she continued to rant and with her words Arthur realized that this memory must have been a short time after Eames had finished their first job together. “Constantly. He’s all you talk about now. Do you think I like hearing you go on and on about some guy? Because I _don’t_!”

 

“Rachel, it’s not like that,” now the younger Eames was trailing behind her as she traveled between the closet and her open bags. “He’s just...a really interesting guy.  He’s like a puzzle waiting to be solved,” even from where he was standing Arthur could see Eames daze out in thought.

 

Unfortunately she saw this too as she whirled around sharply, “Maybe it’s not like that, but it’s pretty obvious that you want it to be like that.” It seemed as if she was fighting between anger and heartbreak. “Apparently three years with me means absolutely nothing to you now.”

 

“Come on, Rachel, you’re not being fair here. You know you’re the one for me,” Eames attempted to pull her into his arms but she pulled away, tears now falling from her eyes.

 

Her bags were finally stuffed full and she turned that metal-melting gaze on the young forger one last time. “You called his name when we had sex this morning.”

 

Eames blinked, “No I didn’t.”

 

“Yes, Eames, you did,” she slung one stuffed bag over her shoulder and picked up the other one in her free hand, storming towards the front door. “He’ll never return your feelings Eames, which sucks for you because I am officially gone.”

 

This was punctuated by the door slamming with such force that a few books clattered from the nearby bookshelf. The flat rang with silence, Eames leaning on the back of the couch and shaking his head in frustration, “Shit.”

 

“We should probably move on before we get smashed in the face with that vase,” the slightly older forger looked over at Arthur, a little tight lipped. “Trust me, that thing was heavy.”

 

Arthur could not think of a reason to argue so he followed Eames out of the dream, hearing the distant sound of a vase shattering against a wall before they were back on the clear staircase. “Who...?” was all Arthur managed to get out before Eames sent him a quieting glance.

 

“It doesn’t matter, pet. Rachel was right,” he gave Arthur a smile that spoke of how much this idea hurt him even though he was trying to put on a strong face. “Let’s keep going. We only have two more memories to go and I’m starting to get really sick of this place.”

 

“Alright,” Arthur shrugged and followed the other man with nothing else to say. He was surprised to see the location of the next memory as it began to materialize around them. They were in the stark hotel lobby of the second level dream during their inception job. He saw himself sitting on the bench next to Ariadne, waiting for Cobb to pull off Mr. Charles.

 

He watched the memory of him saying something to Ariadne as she looked around the lobby in growing concern. Arthur saw Ariadne turn and kiss him softly before the memory froze and began replaying. He knew that immediately after that kiss they had escaped the lobby to go prepare the rooms, but that was not part of this memory. He had not even known Eames had seen this, having assumed he had disappeared long before into the elevator to dispose of Fischer’s wallet.

 

Before he could even ask why this was one of Eames’s worst memories the other man turned to him steadily, “Why don’t you go on ahead, darling? I can handle this one on my own.”

 

Arthur raised a questioning eyebrow but passed himself and Ariadne to head up the brightly lit staircase heading to the entrance of the hotel and the edge of the platform. Even though he was extremely confused about this turn of events and wanted to be there for Eames, he realized that these were Eames’s memories and he was just an uninvited guest; he had no right to refuse Eames’s request to give him some privacy.

 

He passed through the barrier of fog easily but remained on the bottom step, watching the memory through the darkness. It was difficult to make everything out, though he could still see Eames walk up to the bench, interrupting the memory’s progression. Eames was standing directly in front of the memory Arthur so all Arthur could see was the forger leaning over. He saw Ariadne’s shocked and then angry face at whatever Eames had said or done to Arthur, and he could also see the shocked look on his slightly younger face as Eames turned away and left the platform.

 

Eames slipped through the fog, joining Arthur’s side. He seemed slightly nervous when he looked over at the point man but appeared to relax when he just saw Arthur’s questioning look, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Come on, just one more memory to go.”

 

“Eames...wait.”

 

“Yes, love?” turned back quickly, almost hopeful.

 

“...How is that one of your worst memories?” Arthur floundered, feeling like he was missing something important.

 

Eames sent him a sad sort of smile that Arthur did not understand, “Don’t worry yourself, darling; it doesn’t matter.”

 

“But all of these memories matter,” Arthur called after him, hurrying up the staircase to catch up with Eames. “All of these memories show influences that made you who you are today.”

 

The forger scoffed lightly as he climbed the stairs, not stopping until they reached the edge of the last platform. The fog was so dense here that he could not see what was on the other side. “If you want to see a memory that influenced me for the rest of my life, this would be the one.”

 

He pointed into the fog as Arthur finally caught up to him, “You know what’s in there?”

 

“Yeah, I do. It’s not my worst memory...” his eyes drifted down to the marble he was standing on, as if he could see through it to the platform holding the memory of his mother’s death, “but this memory still hangs over my head.” Not knowing what else he could do, Arthur reached over and took Eames’s hand, receiving a small smile for his efforts as Eames twined their fingers together. “This is what happened after my father stormed out of my bedroom,” Eames explained as the memory came into existence around them.

 

Arthur saw Eames in his late teens sitting alone at his kitchen table with a bowl of macaroni when someone knocked harshly on the door. They followed the teenager as he abandoned his bowl and went to the front door, pulling it open to find a woman in a casual business suit standing there. She was holding a clipboard in one hand and a briefcase in the other. “I need you to come with me—it’s your father,” was all Arthur heard before the teen was led out of the house and into a sleek black car.

 

The memory rebuilt itself as a sterile white hospital as the teenaged Eames was led to a private hospital room. The two adults followed him into the room where they found his father tucked under stark white sheets, looking nearly as pale as the sheets and like he was fighting off the pulls of sleep. A nurse came past them to stand next to the teenager, “He swallowed a lot of pills,” she explained quietly, “We’re doing everything we can but he may not be coherent for much longer.

 

Arthur could read the nurse’s body language well enough to know that, in this case ‘coherent’ actually meant ‘alive’. She left to attend to her other duties and Eames walked over to his father’s bedside. Arthur could see a hardness in the teen’s face, an expression far too adult for someone so young, brought on as a barrier from so much pain. “I didn’t know you’d actually try to kill yourself,” the boy muttered quietly, furious and betrayed.

 

“I told you I wouldn’t live a minute longer with a son like you,” the father glared over at his son, even now not realizing the damage he was placing on the boy. Or maybe he did, but Arthur couldn’t even allow himself to consider that concept. “There’s something you need to know before I die,” the man grew serious, beckoning Eames closer with a shaking hand.

 

“What is it, dad?” Eames tried to sound dull but Arthur noticed the hint of hope in his voice as he stepped to the very edge of his father’s bed.

 

The older man did not take his son’s hand in his own even though it was in reaching distance. Instead he kept his hands out of reach on his lap, staring up at Eames. He took a final deep breath, “You were the biggest mistake of my life.”

 

Silence hung in the air, thick and painful. Then Eames’s father turned his gaze away from his son and closed his eyes, the monitor he was attached to flat lining. The nurses began piling in, trying to revive him, but the dream was already fading back to the kitchen with Eames hugging a lonely bowl of pasta. All alone.

 

Arthur blinked and found himself unable to speak as the memory began again. He couldn’t even comprehend how Eames had made it through all of this and become the man he was today. Reviewing what he had recently learned Arthur was astounded that Eames’s mask was simply independent and cocky. How had he managed to survive this and come through all the stronger for his memories?

 

He turned slowly, seeing the forger, the man of so many masks...Eames. He was standing slightly behind him, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he watched his father beckon his younger self closer to the bed once again. Arthur was pretty sure Eames knew he was being stared at but he didn’t look away from the bed. He was wearing another mask, fighting for control as the pain chipped away at his control.

 

“Afterwards I always wondered if I really had been a mistake, if I shouldn’t have been born,” Eames spoke  quietly to Arthur as the point man hesitantly walked closer, though his gaze remained fixed on the hospital bed as the monitor flat lined again. “I didn’t want the right profession; I wasn’t supposed to be gay. Maybe my mother wouldn’t have been killed if I hadn’t been born; she probably would have left my father years ago if it wasn’t for me. She had to stay because she couldn’t support us on her own. Maybe I was a mistake...”

 

Eames’s eyes seemed to glaze over as he lost himself in a downward spiral of thought as the memory looped again. Arthur felt a sense of dread well up in him like a sickness at the expression on the other man’s face. “Eames,” he gripped the man’s chin and tilted it to pull his gaze away from the memory. “You being alive was not a mistake. If it was, you would have let all of this beat you, make you give up; but you didn’t. You came out of this stronger than almost everyone I know.” Arthur sighed in frustration when Eames refused to meet his eyes, still lost in dangerous thoughts. “Eames, I’m glad you’re alive.”

 

The man’s gaze flickered up to meet his then, comprehension and shock evident in those depths. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” Eames pulled himself away from Arthur’s grasp, not allowing himself to hope anymore.

 

But Arthur was desperate for this man to believe his words so he closed the distance again and placed a hand on each of Eames’s shoulders, holding him in place. He leaned forward, fierceness in his eyes and voice, “I’m not lying.”

 

Arthur did not know how long they remained like that, holding each other’s gaze as the memory replayed around them. It was only when Eames leaned forward that Arthur realized they were already close enough to be sharing air. Arthur did not know what Eames was doing but he felt his eyes close in confusing anticipation. He could not understand or explain the small wave of disappointment that passed through him when he felt Eames pause and then pull away.

 

He blinked his eyes open to see Eames holding him away at arm’s length before letting go completely. Arthur suddenly felt foolish and selfish, remembering that they were here to help Eames through these memories. He allowed Eames to pull away from him and walk over to the bed on the opposite side from the teenager.

 

His father turned away from his teenaged self, coming face to face with the older Eames who was leaning over the bed. Arthur could see the dying man’s face widen in shock and anger as Eames smiled down at him. “I can never forgive you, dad, but I can accept that you were never ready to be a father. I can finally put you behind me because I don’t need your love or acceptance anymore; I’ve found something much better.”

 

The forger straightened, stepping away from the bed as his father’s eyes fluttered closed and the monitor flat lined. But this time the memory did not begin another cycle. Instead it slowly faded out of existence until Arthur and Eames were standing a short distance from one another on the side of the top platform. Arthur saw that he had been right earlier because now he could see a brightness shining down on them from above, the first glimmers of the sun announcing a new day.

 

Eames crossed the short distance quickly and wrapped Arthur up in his arms, releasing a tired sigh into the crook of Arthur’s neck. Arthur wrapped his own arms around Eames’s neck, feeling a similar exhaustion overtaking him. They were in no hurry but when Arthur finally pulled out of the embrace he noticed what else was on the platform with them, “Is that an elevator?”

 

Eames turned around curiously and raised an eyebrow, “A glass one by the look of it.”

 

“It reminds me of the glass elevator in _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_,” Arthur smiled slightly.

 

“You read that book?” Eames looked over in mild surprise.

 

Arthur rolled his eyes, “I did have a childhood you know. I wasn’t created at this age.”

 

“Could have fooled me, darling,” Arthur felt fingers wrap around his own and pull him into the elevator. There was only one button to push, which Eames eagerly pressed, “Let’s go home.” The elevator smoothly left the platform and they seemed to leave the night sky below them, floating up into a thick bank of white clouds and mist.

 

They were both expecting a normal elevator ride so when images flashed around them in the clouds they both moved over to the railing to look out. They seemed to be going in chronological order as they rose away from the platform since the figures Arthur saw were aging as they reappeared. Most of the first images were centred on one middle aged woman and Arthur realized who it must be when he saw Eames place one hesitant hand against the glass, a loving smile on his face. “That’s your mother...isn’t it?”

 

Eames nodded energetically, “Yes. This elevator must be showing my favourite memories now,” Eames mused out loud, the smile on his face growing with each passing memory.

 

Arthur smiled at the other man’s happiness before turning his full attention back to the flashes of memory. Eames’s mother had a soft face and bright blue eyes that shone happily as she looked down at child Eames. A lot of her clothing looked home made with warm summery tones, and her hair soft blond hair seemed to always be tied back with colourful ribbons. She looked like the parent Eames needed and deserved. “I wish I had gotten a chance to meet her,” he heard himself say.

 

“I wish you had, too,” Eames’s smile was tinted with sadness for a moment as his mother began fading away, no longer alive to take part in the creation of new memories with her son. But the elevator ride was not over and there were more happy memories to come, even if there appeared to be a large gap between them and his mother’s death based on Eames’s age in the memories.

 

There were some flashes of impossible dreamscapes and some of the many roles Eames had adopted. Successful jobs, perfectly integrated roles, and Eames realizing his goal of living in dreams. And then Arthur began seeing images of himself flash by in the clouds. Soon there was nothing but memories of him and Eames, acting as they usually did before and during an upcoming job. “These are your favourite memories?” he asked curiously, confused since the memories of Arthur always seemed more frustrated than happy.

 

Eames did not respond right away, watching Arthur with an unreadable expression on his face. Eames took a deep breath, meeting Arthur’s questioning gaze. “Look Arthur, there’s something I need to say...” There was a long pause as Eames bit his lip and Arthur looked back out through the glass of the elevator as it continued to travel upwards, “I l--”

 

“I just don’t get it, Eames,” Arthur watched as more images of himself flashed back, the amount of memories passing by slowing down as they seemed to near the end of their ride. “All we’re doing is arguing.”

 

He had not realized that Eames had tried to talk until he heard the man’s mouth snap shut quickly, teeth hitting teeth with the force. He looked over, worried he had said something wrong at the look of sad acceptance on the forger’s face, mask long put aside. He realized that he had missed something important again, but before he could say anything they passed through the clouds and were swallowed by the brightness of the sun glowing above them.

 


	3. Part III

**Part III**

 

It was so bright that Arthur couldn’t bear to open his eyes and the heat was extremely uncomfortable. He felt the glass of the elevator shattering around them, shards scattering and the next moment he was blinking his eyes open to see the warehouse around them, Eames groaning and waking up beside him.

 

He felt like everything had gone wrong at once, feeling disoriented as the necessities of life caught up with him. He could tell immediately that he was dehydrated and his stomach clenched painfully, calling for food. But before he could even contemplate that he heard Ariadne yell, “Oh thank god!” before he felt the girl wrap her arms around his neck in a crushing hug.

 

“Go hug Eames,” Arthur eventually managed to pull away, shooing her towards the forger with a small smile. She pulled away and did as he had suggested, pulling an amused chuckle from the other man. While they were busy Arthur looked over at Yusuf, who was putting away the device, and Cobb. “How long were we under?”

 

“Nearly two days,” Cobb answered tiredly, the lack of sleep evident on everyone’s faces. “We’re glad you two managed to get back; what happened down there?”

 

Arthur met Eames’s eyes, knowing that it was not his place to say what he had seen and experienced down in Eames’s subconscious. “Oh Arthur and I had a grand old time running through a few of my old memories, didn’t we pet?”

 

Arthur felt his heart sink as Eames placed his mask firmly back in place, hiding away everything he had allowed Arthur to glimpse down in the dream. “Well it was certainly interesting,” was all he said as everyone looked to him for his comment, dragging up his own practiced mask of neutrality.

 

“But we won’t be able to use it on Marshall,” Eames continued, finally breaking eye contact with Arthur to look at the rest of their team. “The only reason Arthur made it down to me and we both made it out at all was because my subconscious recognized Arthur from my memories. If we tried using this on Marshall, who doesn’t know us at all, we’d be perceived as immediate threats. We’d either have to kill all of his projections, being unable to distinguish memories and wiping his mind, or else we’d be at risk of our own projections getting killed as they got dragged in.”

 

Arthur nodded with everything Eames said, adding his own comment when he knew the other man was finished. “Using this compound isn’t worth the potential risks.”

 

Cobb nodded, fully understanding the weight of making a decision weighing potential gains and risks. “Then the job is off,” he spoke, ignoring the frustrated glances of Ariadne and Yusuf, who did not fully comprehend that certain risks were not worth taking. Cobb was willing to make the difficult decision for the team, putting certain ethics aside. “We will not be responsible for wiping away a man’s memories. He has made his decisions and it is not our place to determine what he should and should not remember.”

 

Everyone nodded tiredly in agreement. Arthur noticed Eames staring at him out of the corner of his eye but when he looked over the forger dropped his gaze to his lap for a moment before standing stiffly from his chair. “Well now that that’s settled I’m going to head back to my hotel room. I’m exhausted.”

 

“Get some rest, Eames,” Cobb nodded as the man grabbed his jacket and bag. “I’ll tell the employer that we’re not going through with the job and look to see if I can find any other last minute jobs since we’re already gathered together and ready to work.”

 

Arthur was only half listening, watching as Eames held his jacket over his head as he stepped out into the rain without a glance back. He wondered if he should have gone with the other man but it was too late now so he sat back tiredly in his chair. Everyone dispersed to do something productive so Arthur felt pressured to do the same since it was only midmorning. Cobb had disappeared on his phone while Ariadne and Yusuf chatted over some of his most recent notes on the compound. He had no doubt that the chemist would continue working on the compound but Arthur vowed that their team would not be testing it.

 

He wandered over to his desk, aimlessly sifting through the piles of paper he had organized on his desk. He wasn’t really paying attention to the information printed though, instead revisiting his new memories of his time down in Eames’s subconscious. It was close to lunch when Cobb finally got off the phone and came over to his desk, demanding that Arthur go back to his room to get some food and sleep.

 

Arthur gave in and left the warehouse without much argument, picking up a bowl of pasta from the hotel restaurant on his way up to his room. He ate about half of it before he felt sick and pushed the bowl away, staring out of the hotel window in front of the desk. Now that he had gotten something to eat and drink he felt his light-headedness fade and he began wondering over Eames’s behaviour. Arthur knew he had said something wrong in the glass elevator, but he couldn’t figure out what it was or why it had brought that mask he was now growing to hate back so quickly.

 

He reviewed all of the memories he had seen, trying to find some sort of connection. Eames had really begun to close up when they stepped into the memory of Rachel and the inception job, and then he had gotten upset when Arthur questioned Eames’s memories of him. Eames’s memory of the inception job wandered back into his mind and he changed his focus to how Eames had reacted to it all. Now that he thought about it, Eames had looked rather frustrated and hurt when they watched that memory. It was almost like he was jealous of...

 

Oh.

 

_Oh_.

 

The pen that Arthur had been tapping against his desk in thought stilled in his hand as realization hit him. That would explain a lot of things, like the hand holding and how Eames had seemed to give up when Arthur did not understand how he had become some of Eames’s favourite memories. He wondered briefly if he had been who Rachel and Eames fought over after he had returned from the job; there was no way of knowing but it would make sense.

 

Arthur dropped the pen entirely, swallowing hard. How could he have been so oblivious and stupid? He stood up from his desk so quickly that the hotel chair tipped to the floor. But he forced himself to right his chair again and sit back down, fighting the urge to run to Eames’s room three floors down that instant. He knew he had to figure out how he felt before he went to talk to Eames; Arthur refused to hurt that man any more than he already had.

 

It didn’t really take him long to understand what was going on in his own head now that the thought was in place. Everything that had confused him before suddenly made a lot of sense when he thought of how much Eames meant to him, developed over these years of working together. He had always labelled Eames as a co-worker – nothing more, and only focused on how much the man irritated him.

 

But now he began to realize all of the telltale signs he had been ignoring; signs from Eames and hints from Arthur’s own mind trying to lead him to the right realization. The way his eyes always sought those blue ones before anyone else. How happy he felt when he saw Eames give him a genuine smile. The way he secretly enjoyed all of the teasing, even if it also frustrated him, because it meant Eames was focused on him. The reason why he had not only not minded Eames’s fingers hesitantly brushing his own, but why his heart jumped and he twined their fingers together.

 

Arthur was out of his room and in the elevator before he even realized he had stood up. He exited on the ninth floor and knocked on Eames’s door, wondering what he was going to say...how he was going to start. But Eames did not answer the door. He tried again and then went down to the hotel front desk to ask them to call the room. The young man standing behind the computer looked up at him in slight confusion before checking the computer, “I’m sorry, sir, but the guest staying in room 909 checked out a few hours ago.”

 

The point man blinked at the receptionist stupidly, waiting for his brain to catch up. “Thank you,” he eventually managed, stepping away and checking his watch. It was nearly three in the afternoon now so Eames must have checked out shortly before or after Arthur had returned to the hotel. He was already pulling his cell phone out of his pocket as he got back in the elevator, returning to his room as Cobb picked up. “Dom, do you know where Eames is?”

 

“He came by shortly after you left to say he was headed to London this afternoon. He said he had some personal matters to deal with back in Brighton. Arthur, are you alright?” Cobb asked, probably hearing the desperate tone in Arthur’s voice or his heavy breathing as he rushed around the room packing his bag.

 

“I need to go after him, Dom,” Arthur spoke hurriedly, not willing to waste the time to explain things to Cobb. Arthur was already a few hours behind Eames and he hadn’t even had a chance to check flight times yet.

 

“Alright,” Cobb spoke calmly, seeming to somehow understand what was going on. “I’m not sure what flight he’s taking but he did mention that he was going to grab a train down to Brighton when he arrived.”

 

“Thanks, Dom. I’ll talk with you later,” Arthur said before he ended the call and punched in the number for the hotel’s valet, asking them to call a car for him.

 

It was still relatively early in the day so check out was quick and his ride did not get stuck in traffic on its way to the airport. But that didn’t make Arthur any less fidgety as he checked flight times in the backseat of the car. There had been no flights leaving for Heathrow since ten in the morning so Eames couldn’t be gone yet. But the next one was leaving in thirty minutes and another one was leaving in an hour. After that there would not be another flight until nine in the evening and Eames would be long gone, Arthur having no idea of where to go in Brighton.

 

He rushed into the airport, thankful for both his habit of traveling light and his status of a frequent flyer. He did not have to line up to check in luggage and it was a short process of buying a ticket. He was allowed to use a shorter line of security, but airport security was slow at the best of times and Arthur was forced to watch the minutes tick away on his watch.

 

When he finally made it through he dashed through the airport, hearing the final boarding call for his flight over the intercom. Arthur tried Eames’s phone again as he ran even though it would do no good since Eames had turned his phone off for the flight. He turned a corner and saw his gate at the end of a long corridor. He put on a burst of speed he didn’t know he possessed, calling for the attendant to wait. He was running so fast that he couldn’t slow down in time and his side came in painful contact with the corner of the desk. He didn’t complain though since it had stopped his momentum. “I’m sorry sir but the gate is closed,” the attendant looked at him over the desk.

 

“Please, I need to get on that plane. I have a ticket,” he held his passport and boarding pass up to prove his point.

 

The attendant shook her head, “You’re too late, I’m sorry.”

 

“You don’t understand,” Arthur tried to catch his breath, “I just need to talk to someone on that plane. It’s _very _important.”

“There is another flight leaving to Heathrow in thirty minutes. We can exchange your ticket,” the attendant offered.

 

“No, then I _will_ be too late; he’ll be gone.” There must have been something in Arthur’s face or tone that made the attendant’s eyes soften.

 

“Alright, just a moment,” she said before picking up a phone. She spoke quietly and then nodded along with what the person on the other end was saying. “Are you sure?” Arthur heard her ask before she hung up the phone. “I’m sorry, but the plane has already detached from the loading dock.” Arthur let out a breath he had not realized he was holding, his head coming to rest on the desk. “I can exchange your ticket and if you tell me where you need to go we can book your ticket in advance so you can leave immediately from the airport.”

 

Arthur nodded, knowing there was nothing else he could do. He passed over his passport and ticket and then told her that he needed the first available train ticket to Brighton he could get after his plane landed. He hoped that if he just made it to Brighton Eames might decide to turn his phone back on. Arthur didn’t know why he would though if he was dealing with personal matters.

 

He thanked the attendant, taking all of his paperwork back as he collapsed into the nearest chair, waiting the thirty minutes for the next plane to arrive. He was sure to send a glare at his watch every time the minute hand dared move. Finally they began boarding his flight and he fell into his chair, shoving his bag under the seat in front of him with a little more force than necessary. As the plane left concrete and cut into the clouds he began to calculate the time it would take him to get off the plane, through customs and to the train station. The odds did not look promising for him finding Eames before he reached Brighton.

 

The flight was not a long one which was one of the benefits of traveling between European cities. Arthur adjusted his watch to the new time zone, seeing that it was a little past four there as he rushed out of the plane to customs ahead of the swarming throng of people trying to escape the plane behind him. He breezed through customs, surprised and thankful that the customs official did not pull him aside with how flushed and nervous he was acting.

 

He made it to the train station as his train was preparing to leave and he jumped onto the first car he came to as the conductor blew the final whistle. The conductor hustled him into the last car and took his ticket, telling him to choose any cabin he desired. Arthur blinked and took in the train around him, realizing that this was an older style of train where there were separate compartments with doors for privacy.

 

Before the conductor could disappear into a different train car Arthur followed behind him, “When did the last train leave for Brighton?”

 

“The last train to Brighton left at two in the afternoon. The frequency increases as we get closer to rush hour,” the older gentleman explained before nodding his farewell and leaving to his business.

 

Arthur took a moment to catch his breath and take in the man’s words. There was no way Eames would have landed in time to catch the two o’clock train so he was either somewhere on this train, waiting for Arthur to find him, or he was somewhere else and Arthur would truly be too late. He was at the end of a long line of train cars and began glancing through the window of glass in every door he passed, bag slung over one shoulder.

 

Every car Arthur traveled through caused his hope to dwindle just a little bit more. The conductor had already come by to demand he take a seat for safety reasons, though Arthur stood up and kept searching as soon as the man continued on through the train. When he pulled open the door to enter another car he saw shining tracks and green fields speeding by through the door on the other end of the car; he had come to the last one.

 

He wandered along the passageway, barely even bothering to look through the glass anymore. But then something caught his attention and he backtracked; he had never seen anyone wear a shirt that hideous before. “Eames!” he stumbled into the compartment slightly as the train lurched around a turn.

 

Arthur tried to regain some of his composure, centering his balance and squaring his shoulders as he closed and locked the door, pulling the curtain over the door’s window. He saw that Eames was sitting in the corner of one cushioned bench, alone in the compartment staring at the passing scenery dully. But at Arthur’s exclamation the forger looked over in surprise, too startled to pull up a mask to hide the emotions flickering across his face. “Arthur...what are you doing here?”

 

“Well first of all I’m here to apologize for intruding on all of your private memories,” Arthur dropped his bag with a sigh on the free bench in the compartment. “And second, I realized that I was being extremely stupid,”

 

Eames raised an eyebrow mockingly, “The great Arthur admitting to a mistake? I never thought I’d see the day!” The glare Arthur sent his way only caused the man to smirk more, though he grew more serious as Arthur took steady steps towards him, calculating the shifting train below him to make it look effortless. Arthur saw Eames swallow, “Well are you going to share with the class, darling, or are you going to make me sit here wondering?”

 

Arthur took another step forward, now standing directly in front of Eames. He hesitated for just one moment, wondering if he was making a mistake. But then as he looked down at those beautiful eyes trained on him, patient and curious, he realized that he didn’t care. If this was a mistake then he wanted to make it. He placed a cautious hand on Eames’s shoulder for balance as he leaned forward so that he could whisper in the forger’s ear, “I want to make memories with you.”

 

Before Eames could pull away or say anything Arthur tilted his head and brushed his lips against the other man’s, pleased that they felt just as soft as they looked. He did not know what to expect in terms of the other man’s reaction, but he felt his stomach drop as Eames pushed him away slightly. Arthur tried to pull away, realizing that he truly had made a mistake, but was stopped by Eames wrapping one hand around his neck and twining their fingers together with his free hand. “You are stupid, pet,” Eames smirked up at him, “If you haven’t realized that we’ve been making memories together for years. And you should know that if anyone was going to see those memories, I’m glad it was you.”

 

Arthur couldn’t force down the smile that tugged his lips upwards, though it was promptly stolen away by Eames’s lips as he was pulled down, feeling their lips slant against one another at a perfect angle. Suddenly the train lurched again, hitting some bump in the track that nearly caused Arthur to fall onto Eames. He managed to keep himself standing by transferring his hand from Eames’s shoulder to the wood panel wall quickly but before he had a chance to recover Eames was pulling him down into another greedy kiss.

 

Arthur was dizzy with a lack of oxygen as Eames explored his mouth, though he couldn’t bring himself to stop the kiss if he tried. He wanted to be as close to the forger’s heat as he could manage so when Eames released his hand and wrapped it around his waist, pulling him down, Arthur followed the lead. Without breaking the kiss Arthur managed to straddle Eames’s waist with Eames holding him in place so that he would not fall backwards as the train continued to sway under them. This was going much further than Arthur had planned or expected, especially on a moving train, but he couldn’t find the willpower to stop it.

 

He pressed himself against Eames’s warm body as he held the man’s face close to his own, their tongues battling for dominance. Arthur trusted Eames to keep him from toppling over as he began undoing the buttons on the man’s horrendous shirt. Once he was finished he pushed the shirt open as much as he could, not able to peel it off since Eames needed to remain fully seated on the compartment bench lest they both fall over. But this did not stop his fingers from tracing exposed skin that trembled under his touch, loving how Eames’s kiss quickly turned frantic.

 

Eventually Eames released Arthur’s lips, both of them panting to regain their breath as Eames began trailing kisses down Arthur’s neck to his collar. Groaning in frustration, the forger released one hand and began fighting the buttons of Arthur’s vest with little success. With a small chuckle Arthur batted the man’s hands away and began working his vest and tie off quickly, arching down into Eames accidentally when he felt those warm fingers slip under his shirt and skim up his spine.

 

Both men groaned as they felt their clothed erections brush against one another and Arthur felt Eames’s nails dig into his back, pushing him down again as the forger thrust up. Arthur moaned into Eames’s mouth as he pulled him into another kiss, desperate to feel those lips slide against his own again.

 

When they pulled away to drag more air into their lungs Eames kissed the corner of Arthur’s mouth, “Hold onto me for a moment, love.” Arthur nodded, breathless, and undid the last button of his dress shirt before grasping the other man’s half-clothed shoulders for balance. He gasped softly as he felt Eames’s questing fingers brush over his heat with purpose before reaching down to slide the belt away and undo Arthur’s pants.

 

Arthur moaned against the man’s neck, nipping lightly at the skin as he rose to his knees, allowing the other man to slip his pants down his thighs. When the pants were pulled down as far as they could be Arthur sat back down on Eames’s thighs, trying to hold in the embarrassing breathy whines that were escaping his mouth as Eames reached down and began stroking him firmly.

 

He eventually worked up the determination to knock the man’s hand away to work on undoing Eames’s pants, knowing that if the forger continued much longer Arthur wouldn’t be good for much of anything. As he grasped Eames in his hand, the man moaning against his neck as he thrust his hips upward, a thought came to Arthur. “Did you call my name with Rachel?”

 

“Yes,” Eames breathed against his ear, losing focus. Eames’s tone, along with that idea in Arthur’s head made him lose most of the control he had been hanging onto. Eames seemed to realize this as well and reached over with one hand to rummage through Arthur’s bag, producing a small bottle of lotion with a smirk. “Perfect, I knew I could depend on you to have hand lotion, darling.”

 

Arthur glared down at the other man at the teasing, “Do you know how expensive one bottle of that stuff is?”

 

“Send me the bill, love,” Eames grinned as he dipped two fingers in.

 

“We shouldn’t even be doing this here,” Arthur dropped his forehead onto Eames’s half covered shoulder as he felt cool fingers trail down his back, searching.

 

“Oh don’t be such a prude,” Eames gave Arthur a chaste kiss before carefully inserting one finger.

 

Despite trying to go slow, Eames heard Arthur’s groan against his neck, “Fuck, Eames.”

 

“That _was_ the idea, sweetheart,” he continued preparing Arthur slowly, their position making it rather awkward.

 

“I _meant_ ‘be careful’, it hurts,” Arthur bit out, frustration laced with pain.

 

“Sorry, love,” Eames fought down his smirk, “But being as eloquent as you are I’m surprised by your poor word choice.” Arthur did not respond, breath shallow, so Eames began trailing kisses down his neck to distract him until the pain turned to pleasure. Finally when he was sure Arthur was ready Eames removed his fingers. But before he could do anything else the train braked suddenly, sending both men flying. Arthur fell to the ground, groaning in pain as his head hit the hard carpet. Eames barely managed to grab hold of the far bench, keeping his weight from fully crushing Arthur, “Shit, are you alright, love?”

 

Arthur merely grunted to show that he wasn’t dead, raising one hand to gently massage the back of his head. When he felt the sharp thread of the carpet he groaned in disgust, “This carpet is disgusting; I can’t believe I’m lying on it, let alone the fact that I’m half naked.”

 

Eames chuckled in amusement, nipping Arthur’s neck playfully as he pulled both of their shirts off, helping to slide them under Arthur while trying to hide his mirth. “I’m not sure the carpet should be your biggest concern when it comes to becoming dirty.”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes but couldn’t disagree with the point as he lifted his hips for Eames to pull his pants down his legs and off. The other man’s pants quickly followed and Eames grabbed the lotion again, preparing himself. “We really shouldn’t be doing this here,” Arthur muttered in a matter-of-fact tone.

 

Eames paused, positioned against Arthur, “Do you want to stop?”

 

The point man thought about it for a moment, trying to see past his pleasure as Eames traced fingers softly along his thighs and cock. “This is a memory worth having,” he let out a rare smirk for the man above him, wrapping his hands around Eames’s neck to pull him down for a kiss as Eames sank into him with a satisfied sigh.

 

As Arthur adjusted and Eames began moving they both moaned at the dual sensation of Eames thrusting deeply and the moving train below them jolting them into quick and sharp motions. More than once Arthur felt Eames press in almost too hard, too deep, moaning at the sparks of pleasure intertwined with pain as Eames brushed against the bundle of nerves deep inside him.

 

He clutched Eames’s back tightly, nails digging into skin as he pulled the man closer to him. It was impossible to synchronize their movements but that did not stop them from trying. Arthur bucked up to meet almost every one of Eames’s thrusts and he felt the vibrations of the train moving along the rail traveling up his body pleasantly, sending jolts of pleasure through his weeping need when it was caught between his and Eames’s moving bodies.

 

Eames paused for a moment, gripping Arthur’s thighs tightly enough to bruise before placing them over his shoulders. Then he leaned forward to capture Arthur’s lips softly as he began their pace again. Eventually Arthur pulled away from the kiss, desperate for air, so Eames dropped his lips to his pale neck, sucking and nipping at one place to mark Arthur.

 

It was obvious to both of them that they were nearing their end, Eames’s pace quickening to a harsh thrust and Arthur fighting down more and more embarrassing sounds he refused to let escape. The actual end, however, was a complete surprise and accident as the train jolted to another stop. The momentum pushed Eames in far deeper than he thought possible, pressing insistently against that spot that made Arthur see stars and clench around him.

 

Eames watched in wonder as Arthur tumbled over the edge, head thrown back and mouth open even though his moan was swallowed by the sound of the train whistle blowing. That view of Arthur completely losing his mask in the throes of passion, along with feeling himself buried deeper in that tight heat than he ever imagined jolted Eames over the edge as well. He didn’t even dare move as he buried his essence in Arthur with a drawn out groan of satisfaction and pleasure.

 

It took until the train began moving again for them to recover, Eames lifting himself slightly and catching Arthur’s lips in a languid and tired kiss before kissing the bruise on the point man’s neck and collapsing again in the sticky mess they had created. He should have known though that it would not last long, Arthur never one to tolerate being unclean. Eames rolled off him at his request, watching as Arthur pulled a washcloth from his bag and cleaned them up as best he could.

 

They both began to dress, Eames promising that Arthur could shower at his place when they arrived to appease the point man. Eames was relaxed and happy, stretching slowly and practically purring like a cat who had just found a perfect patch of sun. Arthur was a little stiff in his movements though as he began trying to retie his tie. Seeing this, Eames grabbed the tie and pulled Arthur down to sit next to him on the bench, slowly threading the material under his collar and tying it properly. “Don’t tell me you regret this already,” he muttered, staring at Arthur’s shoulder rather than meet his gaze.

 

“I won’t regret this choice as long as you don’t use that mask on me when we’re alone,” Arthur leaned forward and kissed the corner of Eames’s mouth. “I just can’t believe we just did that...on a train.”

 

Eames smirked in pride, dipping his head down to kiss the mark he had left on Arthur’s neck softly. “As long as you promise that you won’t use your mask on me, either,” Eames caught Arthur’s chin and pulled him in for a chaste kiss. He was relieved to realize that Arthur was acting stiff and proper because he was naturally a private person and felt embarrassed about doing something so personal in a relatively public place, not because of any regrets.

 

He pulled away with a content smile, both of them sitting back on the bench and looking out the window quietly. “There’s something I want to share with you,” Eames suddenly spoke, a little hesitant as he glanced over at Arthur, “when we get to Brighton.” Arthur nodded his consent as he leaned against Eames’s warm side slightly. He fought back a yawn despite the fact that it was only approaching dinner time.

 

It did not take much longer for the train to pull into a station, the train conductor calling out Brighton. They both grabbed their bags and Eames led Arthur through the throng of people to grab a taxi. Arthur was content for once to let someone else lead, watching the city and buildings pass by in the middle of the evening bustle after work as the driver followed Eames’s directions. He didn’t comment when they stopped for a minute so that Eames could jump out of the car and buy two small bouquets of flowers.

 

He did raise a curious eyebrow though as Eames slipped back onto the seat beside him, handing him one of the two bouquets. Eames merely smirked lightly before turning away to watch the passing city, “Don’t give me that look; just enjoy them.”

 

Arthur felt stupid having Eames give him a bouquet of gerbera flowers of varying colours, like a school girl on her way to prom. He briefly considered arguing the point but instead dipped his nose into the bouquet and breathed deeply, eyes fluttering shut at the smell. When he blinked his eyes open again he saw that Eames was watching him, a smirk on his lips but happiness lighting up his eyes. Arthur set his flowers down in his lap carefully, trying desperately to fight down his embarrassed blush.

 

The ride after that did not last long and he saw that they had pulled up outside of a small cemetery on the far edge of town. Arthur swallowed, following Eames out of the car as he realized who the bouquet of white lilies was for. He allowed Eames to take his hand in his own and lead him over the uneven stone pathway that weaved between the weathered tombstones around them. They were far enough from the city that no noise pollution broke the silence here and the paths were lit with hanging lanterns as the sun slowly approached the horizon.

 

A short distance into the cemetery Eames pulled them from the path, eventually stopping in front of a slightly weathered but otherwise well-maintained stone. The tombstone was made of the same white marble that had built the spiralling staircase in Eames’s subconscious, a pattern of stars and the sun decorating the top of the carved stone. Eames let go of Arthur’s hand as he stepped forward to place the white lilies at the foot of the grave, staying in a kneeling position when he was done.

 

Arthur was surprised that he did not feel like an intruder any longer as he watched Eames trace his fingers along the white marble slowly, speaking under his breath so quietly that Arthur could not hear the words. He didn’t strain to hear them either; he knew Eames had invited him here but these words were from son to mother. He stood back slightly, waiting patiently until Eames straightened with a controlled sniff and returned to his side. “Arthur, I’d like you to meet my mother.”

 

“This is an honour,” he looked at Eames before looking down at the grave, genuinely wishing that he had gotten the opportunity to meet Eames’s mother in person. “Thank you for sharing this with me.” Eames shrugged lightly with a smile, a little too emotional to trust his voice. Arthur looked back at the grave for a long moment. He buried his nose into the bouquet Eames had given him again, breathing in the heavenly scent before stepping forward and kneeling down next to the grave, placing his bouquet beside the white lilies. Quietly, for some reason not feeling foolish at all, Arthur spoke to the grave, “I’ll take care of him.”

 

He looked back at Eames, hoping this was alright, and saw that the man was watching him intently, a mix of pride, affection and happiness in his smile. “She would have really liked you, Arthur,” Eames spoke softly as Arthur returned to his side. He wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, pulling him close to drop a soft kiss on his lips before returning his gaze to the grave. Arthur enjoyed Eames’s heat as they stood in the twilight, the sun slowly sinking below the trees.

 

As they were eventually forced to turn away from the grave, chased away by the damp chill of the English countryside, Arthur remained tucked against Eames’s side. “Would you be willing to share some of your memories of her with me some day?”

 

Eames glanced over at him as they stopped by the cemetery entrance, waiting for the cab he had called. Eames ducked his head down, kissing his mark, kissing Arthur’s forehead, capturing Arthur’s lips in a slow kiss. When he was finished there was an uncontrollable smile on his face as he stared at Arthur lovingly, “Nothing would make me happier, love.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out [here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**


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